


Beyond- Death's Journey

by Shi_3



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: End of the World, Enemy Lovers, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Last Battle, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Self-Sacrifice, Solavellan Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:21:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shi_3/pseuds/Shi_3
Summary: This will all end soon.He looks ready.She does not think she is.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel/Female Inquisitor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Beyond- Death's Journey

**Author's Note:**

> Have you seen Lethallan's YouTube videos? I don't know where I've been, but I only recently discovered them?? Absolutely amazing. I've been obsessed since. This came together after watching her videos.  
> It's an idea I had while watching [Beyond](https://lethallan.tv/video/), fleshing out a possible idea of what could be going on. So, credit goes to Lethallan and her "Beyond" video, which I just could not get out of my head. 
> 
> Also, if you like listening to music as you read, this is the song I listened to while writing this.  
> ["Lovely" Violin Cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KFsJvgPfHg)

He walks like a King. Perhaps even like a God. The broken bodies and the clashing forces around him are nothing. He sails past them, face set sternly. 

This will all end soon. 

He looks ready. She does not think she is. 

It’s a day to remember. A day in which after, nothing will be the same. This day will go down in history.

The thought is not a comfort to her.

She’s learned she cannot trust history. She cannot trust any of the stories she’s been told. The truth is always fragmented and distorted, sometimes to such a degree that it is hardly discernible. There is so much that is forgotten. So much that is never said. The survivors never tell you everything, and the dead cannot speak. 

Even if they did they certainly never told her about _this_. 

How inglorious losing is. 

How painful it is to know that someone else will have to tell your story, and you have no assurance of how they will tell it. The terror of not knowing what fragments they will choose to keep, and what they will cast away. 

No, the stories had never prepared her to be here. Losing. 

He looks prepared. He walks so confidently.

She kneels, simply trying to keep her breathing steady.

She has no assurances of what he will say of this day when it’s over. What he will put down as history. She wonders what he will remember. 

It probably doesn’t matter. None of it matters right now, not even the fact that it hurts to breathe.

The fight is not yet over.

She can hear the others, distantly calling for help. They need her. One last time, the world needs her. She needs to stop this. She needs to stop him.

He’s too far away for running after. She gingerly splays a hand on her ribs as she sucks in shallow breaths. She cannot run anyway. 

Besides, running after him never did much good. She’s learned over the years, you can chase after the Dread Wolf. You can hound him. You can hunt him. You can never catch him though. He can be right in your grasp, and still he slips away. He slides right out of your hands, like water. Like a fading dream.

She glances at her hand. There’s blood. Her fingers tremble.

He will have to come to her.

_“Solas!”_

He does not falter. He is determined to walk the Din'anshiral. He will not turn back. He will endure.

But she suspects, she _hopes,_ that he does not truly know what it will cost. 

She could show him. 

It’s not running after, it’s running ahead. Maybe that will be enough.

She can walk the Din'anshiral. If she’s determined. Maybe then he will see. Maybe then he will falter. 

It’s a drastic decision. History will not paint it right. Even her friends may not understand. She hopes he might. He’d said it himself, so long ago. Sometimes every other alternative you have is worse.

She reaches for her staff. Strangles it with her bloody fingers. 

She still remembers. She remembers exactly what it felt like when the Anchor exploded in her hand. When the veil was torn away and the fade met the world. This is no Anchor. It is long gone from her grasp, but that doesn’t matter, the veil is so thin here.

She hopes her friends are as distant as they sound. 

She raises her staff. Draws wild, crackling energy into it. Pulls at the veil, or perhaps through it. Green electricity arcs around her. She reels it in, she can feel the staff beginning to splinter, but she _pulls._ It torrents around her, it rushes and spills over her; it’s like trying to gather a waterfall in a cup, but she is determined.

Her staff trembles. It burns in her hand. 

She’s pounded, thrashed by the energy that she’s thrown the door open to. It does not want to be contained any longer.

She screams like she used to, like she remembers with the anchor.

She cannot falter.

She pulls.

It is impossible to tell if it is the staff or the very air around her that explodes. She flips like the half the sea suddenly crashed into her. End over end. She doesn’t know where she lands. She can’t tell up from down. 

Everything is...hazy. 

Is it dust? 

There’s a strange, ringing silence in her ears.

She breathes in a wheezing, faltering gasp. Feeling it, more than hearing it. It does not feel right. She blinks rapidly, but her vision will not clear.

Is it simply her?

It does not matter. Not really. All that matters is that he saw. He is coming to her. She can see him, in the haze. Running. Finally chasing after her.

She doubts he will be able to catch her.

_“No!”_

The stories never painted him as someone who was ever scared.

He sounds scared.

_“Hold on!”_

She is scared. She wonders if whoever is left at the end of this will remember that.

She doubts they will say it. The stories are never right, but what can she do? Nothing. 

She can...barely keep her eyes open.

_“Wake up.”_

She thought she had caught him once. It was so long ago, but the memory is strong. It feels like she is living it still, her hand reaching out. Pressing her lips against his. Feeling the smile on his lips, in his kiss, as he chased her lips with his own. Their arms twining around each other. She thought she had caught him.

He calls her his love. His heart. He holds her close, desperately, and they are both caught together. 

But he says to wake up. 

With a gasp she can hear more than she can feel, she opens her eyes. 

_“Fire.”_ A helpful voice, a compassionate observation.

Yes, there is fire. All around her. But it’s all right, she is determined. She has to show him what will lay at the end of this path. A glimpse into the future he so confidently walks to. He needs to know. 

She suspects, she hopes, that he will regret it. Maybe, it will be enough.

_“I’m so sorry.”_

He looks sorrowful. It's not an assurance. Maybe it won’t change anything. But at least, she’s finally figured it out. How to catch him. For how long, she can't say, but at the very least it will give her friends a little bit more time in this world. That will have to be enough. 

She wishes that it could be more.

She wishes that he would stay here and wrap her in a benevolent embrace. She wishes she could wrap her arms around him. She wants them to be caught together forever, not having to drift apart. 

_“Everything burns.”_

Perhaps that is why everything is so hazy. But, why is everything getting dimmer? Why can she not feel the flames?

She can hear them, distantly. Her friends, her fighters. Screaming. She can’t see them.

They sound like they need her.

_“Inquisitor!”_

She should move.

He is right here though. He is so close, she could reach out and hold him. She can almost feel his hands holding her. Trying to catch her. It’s all she wants, but it must be a dream. It can’t be real. 

_“The Inquisitor is down!”_

It’s difficult to pull in a breath. It sounds all wrong.

Why is she here?

_“It’s ok.”_ An understanding voice, a compassionate whisper in her ear. 

Then everything is...sliding away. 

She wants to hold it tightly, this dream. Where he’s gently holding her, enfolding her and surrounding her. Where it’s warm and safe, and neither of them have to leave.

But it's not real, it can't be. There are flames but it's _cold_. He's holding her but she _remembers_. He’s right there, in her hands, but he's slipping away. Going to places where she can’t follow.

The Din'anshiral.

A burning path. 

But he is not there anymore. He is here.

Where is she?

Not here. She must be there. 

It must be her that is slipping away. 

She’s not breathing right. It’s slow and she can’t feel it. She’s all numb, like she's frozen.

She can’t feel him. He is finally here, trying to catch her in his hands. Trying to hold her, but she’s like water. Like a fading dream.

_“No.”_

She wonders what will be left of her. In the end.

What scattered pieces of her will be cruelly imprisoned and twisted by the stories?   
Perhaps she will be forgotten entirely.

He assured her that he would never forget her. She hopes that he will remember her right. 

Despite the faults, she loved this world. They were worth saving. Just like him.

She wishes she could tell him, one last time, that she loves him. That she would be caught if she could. That it was real.

_“No.”_

But she cannot speak.

**Author's Note:**

> Din'anshiral: A journey of death.
> 
> Thanks for reading. This is a lot less beautiful than the work that inspired it, so go watch and support Lethallan on YouTube if you don't already.


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